


Phobos and Deimos

by ryukoishida



Series: Stars in Our Blood [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), M/M, gundam au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-24
Updated: 2017-02-24
Packaged: 2018-09-26 13:39:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9900113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryukoishida/pseuds/ryukoishida
Summary: “Yuri…?” Otabek opens his eyes blearily at the touch, voice hoarse and low and stirring up ashes and ambers in Yuri’s heart. “How long have you been awake?”His hand is now on the back of the older pilot’s neck, fingers splayed against the black turfs of hair on the nape a few inches above the first protrusion — what they all jokingly refer to as “Whiskers”, the part of the Alaya-Vijnana implant that physically connects pilots to their mobile suits —gleaming tarnished silver along his spine. Yuri glances up to meet his eyes with a small flash of a grin.“Awhile,” he admits, inching closer, tongue darting out to wet his lower lip chaffed by the Martian desert heat. His intention is clear, and Otabek finds no reason to refuse.[Gundam: Iron-Blooded Orphans AU]





	

**Author's Note:**

> I thought I’m done with the Gundam AU; I obviously didn’t know what I was talking about because here we are. Literally requires no gundam knowledge because it’s basically a PWP bye~ Would help if you’ve read part one first though.

Yuri wakes, squinting against sunlight streaming through the dust-stained windows.

 

His limbs ache with a sort of dull flare that never really goes away – bone-deep and inextricable, an unwanted souvenir from all the battles he and thousands of children have been much too young to be dragged into.

 

He shifts beneath the sheets, legs entangled with the man who’s sharing this narrow, single bunk with him since last night, and when Yuri’s gaze lands on the tanned face just mere inches from his own, a soft smile tugs at the corner of his lips at the sight.

 

Otabek Altin looks peaceful in his slumber, the firm line of his mouth, the cold glint in his eyes, and the hard edges of his shoulder melt away from the statuesque pilot to that of a mere mortal, the harsh lines rubbed and blurred by repose and the pastel light of dawn.

 

A hint of stubble dots his chin and cheeks, and Yuri cannot resist dragging gentle fingertips along his jawline, a feather-light touch like the remnant of a good dream.

 

“Yuri…?” Otabek opens his eyes blearily at the touch, voice hoarse and low and stirring up ashes and ambers in Yuri’s heart. “How long have you been awake?”

 

His hand is now on the back of the older pilot’s neck, fingers splayed against the black turfs of hair on the nape a few inches above the first protrusion — what they all jokingly refer to as “Whiskers”, the part of the Alaya-Vijnana implant that physically connects pilots to their mobile suits —gleaming tarnished silver along his spine. Yuri glances up to meet his eyes with a small flash of a grin.  

 

“Awhile,” he admits, inching closer, tongue darting out to wet his lower lip chaffed by the Martian desert heat. His intention is clear, and Otabek finds no reason to refuse.

 

Both of them still bear marks from last night: lines from fingernails scratching over old scars and digging into tender skin, bruises along inner thighs when one of them kissed and sucked too hard…

 

Ever since they’ve become more aware of their maturing bodies’ signals — especially with the post-battle adrenaline and the miracle of surviving through another day still thrumming readily in their bloodstreams — they’ve started to fall into a kind of routine that’s only whispered in passing rumors but is actually not that uncommon among young soldiers and pilots like themselves. 

 

They never put a name on it — whatever they’ve been engaging in, whatever one wants to call it. They don’t need to. They’re just happy to find solace in each other’s embrace, racing heartbeats and sweat-slicked skin and the desperate grappling to seek release shimmering like mist in the dark of their constricted living quarters.

 

“Last night wasn’t enough?” Otabek murmurs against Yuri’s jaw, kissing his way closer to his mouth before he swallows the blond man’s moan in a kiss.

 

“It’s never enough with you, Beka,” Yuri utters with his eyes fluttering close when Otabek finally maneuvers himself to straddle over Yuri’s body, legs on either side of the blond’s waist, and moves to scatter kisses on his neck, switching between soft, lazy lapping with his tongue and sharp bites that will surely leave more violet blossoms behind.  

 

“Greedy,” Otabek laughs, affection apparent in his tone, the sound muffled by the skin he’s still kissing.

 

“That’s my philosophy on surviving through this shit show,” Yuri half-jokes but has to suppress a moan when Otabek brushes against his growing arousal beneath the thin cotton of his briefs.

 

He shudders, wanting more but afraid to ask for more. His hands slide into Otabek’s dark locks and the bristly short hairs of his undercut as the older pilot continues his ministrations with his mouth and hands — sucking on a dusty pink nipple while fingers play with his other until both grow too sensitive, kissing down his ribs until Yuri wriggles and tries to stifle his laughter when Otabek ventures too close to his ticklish spots, biting on the spot just south of the jut of his hipbone when he peels back the waistband of his underwear to reveal creamy skin.

 

“Beka, stop being a fucking tease and get on with it,” Yuri mutters, restless and eager. Dark, glazed eyes glare down at his companion through a curtain of messy blond locks that fall haphazardly across his shoulders and curling against his skin.

 

“What’s the hurry?” Otabek says with a hint of a smile, but pulls down the offending briefs anyway so that Yuri’s body is displayed fully before him.

 

His skin tells so many stories — stories that Otabek didn’t dare ask about when they first met all those years ago — but as days trickle into weeks and then into months, and as their friendship deepens through time, smolders in the flames of endless battles, and forges into a bond that’s as strong as the iron blood in their veins, Yuri opens up to him bit by bit, the ice in his heart melting little by little through the cracks and nooks that gradually reveal themselves.  

 

That’s about the time when he starts to smile more often, his voice louder, more lively. The terror of his violent past that has haunted him for as long as he can remember is becoming a distant ghost, but the new path he’s taking, this new — whatever it is that he has with Otabek right now — it’s wonderful yet terrifying.

 

The fear of this strange kind of unknown, the possibility of having a future with someone he cares so much about that sometimes it gets hard to breathe, even, just looking at him from the corner of his eyes, or when he’s staring down at him with such brightened eyes in this moment as if Yuri is the center of his orbit.  

 

“You’re beautiful, Yura,” Otabek says with that infuriatingly straight face of his, the warmth in his voice setting alight the ambers in Yuri.

 

“And you’re a fucking sap,” Yuri turns away, blush blooming, as he blindly reaches for the bottle of lube still sitting on the bedside table from last night. He throws it at Otabek’s general direction, and he catches it without a hitch.

 

“I can’t help it,” he chuckles, tucking his head into the junction between Yuri’s neck and shoulder after he quickly spreads the liquid onto his fingers. He kisses him there, hot breaths lingering where his pulse thrums loud and frenzied, and Otabek pushes a finger in easily.

 

Yuri yelps at the sudden coldness but soon he’s mumbling little half-pleas, half-demands — “deeper, Beka, please” — into Otabek’s mouth, filthy sounds slipping out wetly as their tongues delve in further to taste and swallow, and harsh breathing turning ragged as the dark-haired pilot added more fingers, pushing in and pulling out in such a calculated pace that Yuri wants to scream in frustration. He’s already on the edge, cock leaking without having been touched as Otabek’s thick, clever fingers insistently skim that spot, sending speckles of bursting stars along his spine, making Yuri arch upwards, skin flushed and shimmering faintly with sweat.

 

“B-beka —” Yuri chokes out when Otabek removes his fingers from his entrance, and Yuri sags into the firm mattress with an accusatory stare aiming at the other man, his chest rising and falling deeply with every breath he takes, his cheeks rosy and lips bitten raw.

 

“If you get any louder, people are going to hear you,” Otabek warns in a low growl by Yuri’s ear, and chuckles when he feels the blond-haired man wrap his legs tighter around his waist, pulling him in closer until they can both feel Otabek’s clothed erection brushing against Yuri’s skin.

 

“I don’t fucking — ahh — care…” Yuri whines, all pretense of poise and grace shattering as he grinds against Otabek with no shame, just pure need, and Otabek, who has seemed so composed during all this time, looks as if he’s finally at his limit as well.

 

His eyes flutter close at the overwhelming sensation, and he lets Yuri manhandles him roughly until his own briefs are pulled off and cast aside; now Otabek is the one lying on his back, hands resting on Yuri’s bare thighs as the blond, perched atop of him like he belongs there, quickly rolls the condom onto Otabek’s cock, the sight of it alone and imagining it hot and deep inside him is enough to make Yuri shiver with unbridled want.

 

Otabek is about to say something, but Yuri only reminds him with a quirked brow, “Morning training starts in 15; you don’t want Nikiforov to give you a lecture about tardiness, do you?”

 

“Can we maybe not bring up the name of our boss while we’re about to have intercourse?”

 

“‘Intercourse’? What are you — a goddamn scholar?” Yuri sniggers.

 

“Yura.”

 

“Alright, alright, sorry for ruining the mood,” Yuri relents, though not without a mischievous grin as the next words leave his mouth, “How should I make it up to you?” He traces a finger suggestively from Otabek’s collarbone down his chest and rakes his blunt nails against his sides, making the older pilot squirm a little.  

 

“For starters…” Otabek guides him by his waist until the tip of his cock just nudges Yuri’s rim, and Otabek lets out a breathy laugh when he watches Yuri’s expression goes from smug to instant torture, hazy eyes blinking against something bright and his pretty mouth releasing such a lovely moan around his name; it’s enough to make Otabek wind desperate fingers into Yuri’s messy hair and pull him forward and down for a consuming kiss.

 

And just because Yuri can be such a jerk at times like this, he lowers himself further down so quickly and unexpectedly that Otabek — feeling the tightness around him all at once and it’s too much, too fast — is biting his shoulder hard enough to draw blood and —

 

“Fuck! God, Yura, goddamnit…”

 

Otabek senses wiry fingers pressing his hips down in place, minimizing his movements even as he tries to buck up for more – more friction, more heat, more… Yuri.

 

“Hmm? What’s that, Beka?” Yuri asks softly, glancing down at him with a saccharine smile.  Otabek is seated deep inside him, and Yuri can feel the length of it pulsing, filling him, trails of heat trembling in waves across his skin.

 

“I thought we were going to make it quick,” Otabek utters, dark eyes burning as he stares up at the blond-haired man.  

 

“On second thought, maybe we should take our time, no?” Yuri has the decency to tap his lower lip with his index finger in a mocking thoughtful expression. “I kinda like the view from up here,” he continues with a slightly less innocent grin, and as if to tease him further, he raises his body up, anchoring himself by lacing his fingers tightly with Otabek’s, and grinds down, deliberate and steady, and slowly driving Otabek insane with each second passing.

 

“Yura, come on, let me come,” he groans, and it’s rare to see him beg out loud, voice taut with need and words bursting with so little restraint, that Yuri is beginning take pity on him.

 

He likes being the only one who gets to see this side of the mobile suit pilot, who’s usually all cold, hard edges and stoic expressions, but to see him unravel like this, to give himself away and fall apart like this because of Yuri, it’s something precious that Yuri wants to keep close and protect, like one of those rare, achingly fragile flowers found in the wild Martian lands.

 

“Okay, okay Beka,” Yuri begins to rock himself against Otabek in earnest, one hand wrapped tight around his own erection as he tries to match the rugged pace they’ve set.

 

It doesn’t take long for them to reach climax: with a shuddering mewl, Yuri spills white between his slender fingers and onto Otabek’s abdomen, and Otabek leaves bruises and scratches on Yuri’s pale, marred skin until he, too, falls freely off the precipice uttering nonsensical sounds and remnants of Yuri’s name.  

 

“You will be the death of me one of these days, Yuri Plisetsky,” Otabek tells him after he’s pulled himself out and discarded the condom. His hand trails gently down Yuri’s back, taking extra care to caress past the three metal “Whiskers” stemming from the top of his spine.

 

Yuri shivers at the touch and shuffles closer to Otabek, laying his head on Otabek’s chest. He can hear his heart beating — steady and strong — and the fact that they are here now, curled up against each other in the early hours of another day, makes Yuri smile just a little.

 

That nameless fear that pesters him from time to time fades a mere degree, but Yuri counts it as a small blessing for today.

 

“I do not want to be responsible for your death, old man,” Yuri hits his side lightly with a fist. “In fact, I’d rather you keep yourself alive, if at all possible.”

 

“Duly noted,” Otabek agrees, and places a soft kiss on Yuri’s temple.


End file.
